Sixty Days
by Krissie
Summary: The first week Harry is in hospital, Merlin brings some things from Harry's house to make the place feel more comfortable and warm, just in case Harry wakes up when he's alone. *Warning for major character death


Merlin has never been so happy to see an agent suffering as he is the day he learns Harry had survived Valentine's piss-poor shot. You'd think one of the man's goons would have checked the body, but even though he'd bled a lot, Harry had been found, alive, by a passerby and taken to a nearby hospital, where Merlin was contacted as next of kin. He arranged for the man to be brought home, and though he was comatose, he has faith that he would wake up. Harry _needs_ to wake up. Merlin doesn't know how he can stay with the agency if he loses Harry.

He's never even told Harry how he feels about him. As many things as Merlin is good at, as easily as he can detach himself from the situation and look at it logically, he doesn't know if he could bear to work with his best friend if his feelings aren't returned. Love isn't logical.

V-Day had failed. Harry had gone to Kentucky and been shot in the head for nothing. If Eggsy hadn't been there, most of the world would be gone, too.

As it stands, Kingsman is in shambles. They'd lost half their active agents, either from Valentine's implants or the subsequent signal. Merlin had been working nearly constantly, as had the rest of the still-living support staff, to try and bring order back to the table, but things were only slowly starting to be bearable again. They would be mourning for a long while, and slowly rebuilding even longer, but until then, every free moment Merlin has is spent at Harry's bedside.

There isn't anywhere else for him to go, even if he does feel completely useless just listening to the heart monitor beep, making sure everything is as normal as it can be, under the circumstances. It isn't the first time Harry had been in hospital, and God willing it won't be the last. Merlin knows he needs to have faith.

The first week Harry is in hospital, Merlin brings some things from Harry's house to make the place feel more comfortable and warm, just in case Harry wakes up when he's alone. The doctors are cautiously hopeful that he _will_ wake up, after all. Merlin is, too; Harry'd woken up from the last coma only a few months before—how could this be the thing to defeat him?

"You'd be proud of your boy. He got back from Brno last night. Managed to thwart the kidnapping of Petra Formanová and get out without any problems," Merlin says on Day Six, flipping through the report Eggsy had submitted on the incident. "Lancelot's still in Drakensberg with Gawain, but they've not had any trouble yet. Percival's their handler. Now we're just waiting on you, Harry."

"I made your favourite, Harry. Cock-a-Leekie soup, extra whisky. I made extra for you, if you'd care to join me," Merlin announces, settling down to dinner, watching Harry for any sign of acknowledgement, a hint of consciousness. As usual, there are none, and he sighs, going on to talk to the man throughout his meal. Merlin will hold out hope until his dying breath that Harry will return to him, but it isn't going to happen on Day Eleven.

Day Eighteen brings hope: Harry opens his eyes and responds to external stimulus. Merlin celebrates by playing one of Harry's old records for him, holding his hand and singing along. Even Eggsy stops by to check on them, and he's was so relieved to see Harry's improvement he kisses Merlin before he realises what he's doing. Merlin is in such a great mood that he doesn't care. Nothing can ruin Day Eighteen for him.

Nothing, that is, except Day Twenty, when Harry slips deeper again. Merlin knows—has always known-that after two weeks, Harry's chances of coming out of it with a good shot at recovery are low, but Merlin refuses to accept that. Harry is strong and stubborn, and he wouldn't go without a damn good fight. "Come on, Harry. You took down the entire Zemun Clan singlehandedly, with just two grenades, an umbrella and a signet ring," he whispers. "One bullet can't be the end of you."

Merlin takes to sleeping in the same room as Harry on Day Twenty-four. He moves a few outfits into the room, does his morning and evening ablutions in the small sink, and takes all his meals there. And when he's sure he's alone, he pretends that what he had with Harry is more than friendship. "Once you're awake, Harry, I'm taking you out dancing," he decides. "Remember when Percival got married? You had everyone's eye when you were out on the dance floor. Your tux only accentuated that you knew what you were doing out there. I wanted to dance with you then, you know. Just … I didn't think you'd want to." He turns on the wireless to some soft music. "I'd never let you go, Harry. We'd dance all night together."

Day Twenty-seven sees Harry a little more conscious again, and Merlin lets himself get his hopes up. He kisses Harry's forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "I never told you," he says softly. "I always thought we'd have the time later." Later is looking less likely, though, these days, and Merlin isn't going to let Harry just give up without knowing that he'll be killing his friend if he does. "Please, Harry. Wake up. For me."

"It's been a month, Harry," Merlin sighs on Day Thirty. "You're really milking it, aren't you?" The doctor tells him that Harry isn't likely to wake up again, and Merlin should consider his options. Merlin refuses to believe that. He knows it's less likely, but it's not impossible that Harry will come back to him. The odds are against him, but they've been against him before. Harry just needs a miracle.

Eggsy forces Merlin to get some real rest on Day Forty. Merlin hasn't left Harry's bedside in days, letting the other agents and handlers take care of running Kingsman. He's currently the most senior agent they've got, and the others are worried. "Merlin, bruv, you've got to get some rest," Eggsy pleads. "Harry won't want you makin' yourself sick over 'im, would he?" Merlin hates that Eggsy's right about that. He leaves Harry's room for three hours, walking the grounds and watching the new recruits running the obstacle course. He forces himself not to think about who will be the next Galahad.

By Day Forty-seven, Merlin is doing most of Harry's PT himself, moving his arms and legs as he was shown by the doctor. He talks to the man as he does it, about all the dates he plans to take him on. "You always told me how amazing the Coq au Vin atThe Wolseleyis," Merlin comments. "I'd love to try it. I'd love to see you eating it, too. You'll take me there, won't you?"

Fifty-three days past Harry's initial admittance to hospital, and Merlin's having a hard time keeping up his positive attitude. The doctor's made it clear that Harry is almost certainly never going to recover, and that Merlin, having Medical Power of Attorney over Harry, has to make a decision.

"I don't know what to do, Harry," Merlin whispers, holding Harry's hand to his face, wet with tears. "I know you'd tell me to stop being a twat and do what needs to be done, but if I do that …" He breaks off with a sob. Nothing in his career has prepared him for having to give the order to let his best friend die. He spends Days Fifty-four through Fifty-eight thinking about it. There isn't anything that can make this easier on him. Eggsy is understandably upset; both options are shit, but they both know Harry would hate living like this. And Merlin is a lot of things, but he can't be selfish, not now.

"I love you," Merlin breathes on Day Sixty, as the doctor removes the tubes tethering Harry to this life. He holds it together only as long as it takes the doctor to exit, shutting the door behind him. Merlin crawls into bed beside Harry, head on the man's chest as his heart barely beats, slowing more and more until there's nothing but silence beneath his head.

Day Sixty-one, Merlin goes to The Wolseley, alone. If the servers notice the tears threatening to fall, they're at least discreet enough not to say anything.


End file.
